


The Wolf

by ForestWren



Series: Feanorian Week 2020 [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, FeanorianWeek, Fluff and Angst, Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath, Shapeshifting, Valinor, Years of the Trees, kind of, not much changes actually, this was supposed to be fluffy and now look at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23322136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestWren/pseuds/ForestWren
Summary: In which Celegorm learns how to transform into a wolf.
Relationships: Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Huan, Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Oromë
Series: Feanorian Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677022
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27
Collections: Feanorian Week 2020





	The Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> For FeanorianWeek: Day 3 -- Celegorm

_It worked!_

That was Celegorm’s first thought. 

_I can’t believe it actually worked!_

His world had shifted around him as his body morphed. Everything was so much larger now! The colors had shifted to be duller and less distinguishable, but the smells— oh, the smells were incredible. Thousands of colors and tastes whirled in the wind, creating whole worlds in his mind’s eye. The flowers in the garden, a long way off through the woods, sent their delicate pink scent wafting through the brown and green odors of the soil beneath his paws. His body was smaller, but he could feel power to equal his normal form radiating through his muscles. He wagged his tail experimentally and barked with joy at the feeling. He looked up at Oromë — he seemed so much taller now, but somehow no more intimidating than usual — and barked happily, wagging his tail with increasing vigor.

He had done it. He was a wolf.

A yellow scent shifted into presence and he twitched his ears as he heard the telltale rustle. His eyes caught the movement of the squirrel much more easily than they could see color. He bounded at it. It immediately ran away into the trees and was lost from view, but Celegorm didn’t care. He was too caught up in the excitement of the moment.

Oromë laughed at Celegorm’s exuberance. 

“Well done, my friend!” he said with a smile. “It’s not every elf who can achieve this.”

Celegorm yipped happily in response. _Show pack-family-friends?_ he asked in thought, knowing Orome would hear him as well as he always did.

Oromë smiled again and nodded, and together they walked through the woods toward the rest of the world.

Celebrimbor yelled in delight as Celegorm bounded in circles, his little nephew securely placed on his back. Curufin laughed at the sight.

“Don’t kill our nephew!” shouted Amrod, laughing as well. Fëanor chuckled while Maedhros and Amras grinned. Maglor seemed as though he didn’t know whether to be more worried or delighted. Nerdanel smiled fondly. Even Caranthir looked amused.

_Pack-safe-mirth-happy-home._

It had been far too long since his family had laughed together, with no worries or cares to distract them.

This was going perfectly.

o~O~o

The orcs fled before their swords. They were cowards, unable to finish what they had started. They had expected an easy target. They had expected the Noldor to have become softened by their time in Aman, for them to quickly fall prey to their attacks. 

They had not expected resistance. They had not expected to be suddenly beset by shining steel and shining eyes. They had not expected warriors.  
Celegorm bared his teeth and growled. Handing his sword to one of his soldiers, he shifted forms and charged into the mist after the orcs.

Feanor had been killed. Maedhros had been captured by Morgoth. But the orcs were going to pay with blood and misery and death. They would pay ten times what they had done to them. They would rue the day they ever heard of the Noldor. 

Celegorm would make sure of it.

o~O~o

Huan had betrayed them. 

He had been Celegorm’s best friend. When Celegorm was in wolf form, they would romp about the forest together, chasing each other in circles and forgetting the troubles of the world for a moment. Even when he wasn’t a wolf, Huan was always by his side, protecting him, a comforting presence in this crazy, rotting world.

And now he was gone. He had betrayed Celegorm, abandoned him to the loneliness of empty rooms and hearths where he had been. Celegorm had spent all day roaming land around Nargothrond, searching and sniffing in vain for any sign of his friend. He had found nothing. The cursed hound knew all too well how to avoid leaving traces after so long hunting after orcs.  
He was alone.

o~O~o

Blood. There was blood everywhere. It coated his paws and soaked his fur. The walls of the caves were splattered with it. The walls of the caves were splattered with it. The Silmaril was near. He could feel it, feel its fire in his bones, feel the way the Oath tugged him in its direction. His wolf’s body magnified the pull, his every instinct screaming at him to reclaim what was theirs by right, to fulfill the Oath and make them free of this torment.

He ran toward the pull, heedless of anything that was in his way.

He heard the fighting long before he saw it. He headed towards the sound, towards the pull of the Silmaril, and emerged into a large, brightly lit cavern. He stopped for a moment, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sudden change in lighting. It was white and clear and cool, nothing like the flickering red of torchlight. It took a moment for his wolf’s mind to realize what was causing it.

Then he saw the Silmaril. Right there. Just across the room, strung about the neck of a person who had to be Dior.

He had not seen that light since before the Darkening of Valinor.

He lunged forward, pushing aside friend and foe alike in his desperation to reach the Silmaril. He needed it. It was theirs by right. Anyone who said otherwise was an enemy.

The people of Doriath did not try to stop him, at first. Celegorm and his family had kept his ability a closely-guarded secret. They were confused, certainly, but they had more pressing matters to worry about than a strange wolf running through their midst. By the time they realized something was wrong, it was far too late.

Celegorm leapt onto Dior, trying to wrestle the Silmaril off of his neck. If he happened to kill the half-elf while he was at it, it did not matter. Dior fought back with surprising ferocity for one so much younger than Celegorm, stabbing and biting and kicking. Celegorm felt a knife pierce his hide, but he continued undeterred. His mind was ruled with only one thought: get the Silmaril at any price. Nothing else mattered.

He felt a fiery stab of pain in his stomach as Dior’s knife scored a deep hit. He knew that he did not have much time. He fought with renewed ferocity, biting and tearing at anything he could reach. Dior cried out in pain as Celegorm’s teeth found his throat. It took only a few more moments before the half-elf went silent and moved no more.

It was not enough. The Silmaril was still out of reach, and Celegorm knew he was dying. He could not stand, he could not get to it. He cursed Dior with all the voice he had left, but all that came out was a small yip. The world faded into blackness.

Celegorm was buried as a wolf.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not super familiar with Celegorm, but hopefully this turned out all right. Feedback would be greatly appreciated! :)


End file.
